Chapter 1

“How’s Nate settling in at the college?” Zoe asked as she passed her new friend and neighbour a mug of coffee. Dr Zoe Monroe had been a little shocked when she looked out of her kitchen window to see two huge black men on the lawn just 2 months back. As it turned out those two men were father and son and had just moved into the house right next door.

“He’s doing ok I guess. That’s kind of why I came by.” Tiara Jones replied.

Growing up where she did, Zoe had never really had any black friends. Not that she considered herself to be racist in any way, but she had heard stories or other white people in her town giving their opinions on other races, and when she had gotten to know Tiara she couldn’t help but notice just how normal and like her, she seemed. The two of them hit it off straight away, gossiping about the other neighbours and these little coffee visits seemed to happen every few days.

“He’s just not quite been himself of late. He keeps locking himself away in that room of his for hours on end and seems to be miserable...” Tiara continued.

“Well moving to a new school and town is stressful for anyone. Maybe he is just shy and missing his home,” Zoe interjected.

“Trust me. If there is one thing that Nate isn’t, then it’s shy ... Besides, I asked him what was wrong and that he didn’t seem himself and told me to just leave him alone and that he was fine. His Dad went to talk to him and he told Jamal that he was just a little depressed or something ... Anyway, that’s why I came by. I wanted to ask, seeing as you are a doctor and all, if you would maybe have a talk with him?”

“Well, I guess I could see him. But we would need to make it an official appointment at my office. And I have to warn you that I won’t be able to discuss anything that Nate tells me with yourself. I take Doctor-Patient privilege very seriously.” Zoe said sternly. She didn’t normally like taking on friends as patients, but she knew that a new town could be a lonely place and she wanted Tiara and her family to know they weren’t alone.

“Of course. It will be enough just to know that he is being taken care of from a professional. Thank you Zoe, you’re a good friend! He doesn’t normally go to the doctors, but maybe we can get my Husband in for a check-up at some stage too. He’s not exactly getting any younger.” She added smiling.

“Well, I’ll sort out an appointment for Nate and give you a call with the details. And maybe we can get that old man of yours in for a routine check-up in a few weeks’ time. Put your mind at ease,” Zoe said with a light laugh.

But as she pictured Jamal—Tiara’s husband—there was only amusement in the idea of calling him old. Yes, he was in his mid-forties, just like Tiara, and he kept his head shaved bald with a touch of grey threading through his goatee. But nothing about him felt aged. He had the kind of body that turned heads—lean, broad, and sculpted like a man half his age. His face was fresh, his posture confident. If anything, Zoe thought, he could have easily passed for Nate’s older brother rather than his father.

She remembered the first time they’d all met, the surprise she’d felt at how youthful Jamal appeared. And then there was that afternoon not long after they moved in—the Jones family hosting a backyard barbecue, the warm sun bathing everything in gold, smoke from the grill curling lazily into the air. Zoe had watched from her kitchen window, pretending to tidy the counter while sneaking glances outside.

Both Jamal and Nate had their shirts off, glistening with heat and exertion as they laughed and drank and moved with effortless power. She found herself studying them—comparing them, even—unable to decide which of the two black men was more physically impressive. Nate had youth on his side, but Jamal had that seasoned edge, the kind of masculine confidence that came from years of owning who he was.

Zoe had been deep in her internal debate when Tiara caught her standing there, staring a little too long. Instead of calling her out, Tiara had simply smiled and waved her over.

“Come join us,” she’d called.

And Zoe had. Eventually.

Zoe herself was hardly a shrinking violet when it came to physical appeal. At twenty-nine, she still carried the toned, disciplined grace of her youth—years spent as a dedicated gymnast, where she’d shown real promise. But unlike the other girls who remained slim and slight, Zoe’s body had begun to transform early. Year by year, curve by curve, she filled out in ways that gymnastics didn’t exactly reward.

She had tried to keep up, fighting her own natural development, but eventually, she’d accepted what her body was becoming. Short and strong at five foot two, but lushly proportioned—her 32F-24-35 frame turned heads whether she meant it to or not. The sport had its limits. Zoe had outgrown them.

She left her competitive dreams behind and pivoted with purpose, pouring her discipline into medical school. A decade later, her figure remained striking. Rigid fitness routines, clean eating, and the fact she hadn’t yet had children had preserved her physique with almost unfair perfection. Toned limbs, a small waist, full breasts, a high, sculpted ass—Zoe had the kind of body that didn’t just demand attention, it lingered in memory.

Barry certainly hadn’t missed the irony.

“If times ever get tough,” he liked to tease, “it’s nice to know we’ve got your stripper’s body to fall back on.”

“Honey, I’m home! Where’s my stripper?” came his usual bellow from the front door.

“In the kitchen, Barry,” Zoe called back, her voice flat with playful embarrassment.

“Stripper?” Tiara laughed, arching a brow.

“Just a long-standing joke he has,” Zoe said, rolling her eyes with a small smile. But even as she said it, she couldn’t help the flush that rose to her cheeks.

Tiara slung her purse over her shoulder and gave a parting grin. “Don’t mind me, I’m just heading home to make the guys some dinner. Thanks again, Zoe, I really appreciate it. Nice seeing you, Barry ... enjoy the strip show.”

As she stepped out the door, Tiara glanced over her shoulder one last time, curiosity tugging faintly at the corners of her smile. She wondered, not for the first time, what Zoe really saw in him...

He was a good man—kind, gentle, decent. But visually? Barry Monroe left a lot to be desired. He was short, noticeably chubby, with wisps of thinning hair combed in a futile attempt to conceal a persistent bald patch. Thick-rimmed glasses—what Zoe privately referred to as “milk bottle lenses”—sat perpetually crooked on his nose. Aesthetically, he wasn’t anyone’s fantasy. But in truth, that had never really mattered to her.

Zoe had met Professor Monroe during her university years. He’d been one of her tutors, and from the moment they spoke, she was struck not by his appearance but by his mind. He was brilliant, sharply intelligent, warm in a way most academic types weren’t. He listened with interest. He challenged her. And above all, he made her feel seen.

Back then, a decade ago, he’d at least had a flat stomach and a full head of hair. It hadn’t been love at first sight—nothing so dramatic—but at nineteen, surrounded by immature boys playing at being men, Barry had seemed like the real thing. Grounded. Confident. Capable. A man with substance.

They married two years later, and for the most part, had lived a contented, even happy, life together. There were routines and shared smiles. Affection in the familiar sense. Not the kind that sets your soul on fire—but the kind that feels steady. Safe.

But not everything had gone to plan.

No matter how hard they tried, Zoe hadn’t been able to conceive. Month after month of disappointment had given way to tests, then more tests, and finally, a quiet diagnosis: the problem lay with Barry. A low sperm count. Faint hope diminished further by numbers and charts.

They’d talked it through—long, honest conversations that ended in tears and quiet acceptance. They agreed to keep trying naturally, but only until Zoe turned thirty and Barry hit forty. That was the line they’d drawn. If nothing happened by then, they would adopt.

Now, with those birthdays less than a year away, Zoe couldn’t shake the growing certainty that adoption was their future. And while she loved Barry ... a small, aching part of her grieved the child she might never carry. The child they would never create together.

“Ready to show me that hot body of yours?” Barry teased, as he kissed his wife on the cheek.

“God Barry, you are so embarrassing. What will Tiara think?”